Chapter Thirty-Five
Marigold stopped in front of the very blue Imagination. It was remarkable how much he looked like Mr. Chomicki. Aiden was encased in a glowing, blue oval in Imagination’s arms. Marigold gasped into her hand when she saw him.
His eyes were scrunched up tight and his brow was furrowed. He also had a small scruff of blond hair, which must have come from her mother. He had chipmunk cheeks and he pouted. He looked like he was in pain.
“Here,” Imagination said, holding out her child, and standing up. “Take your son. You’ve earned him.”
Imagination’s voice was different from when she had last seen him. His voice was beautiful and pure in the large room. It sounded like a spoon clinking against a wine glass.
She put her hands underneath the cushiony aura to take her son. Aiden didn’t move with the changing of hands. If not for his pained expression, she would have thought he was dead. Her heart pounded. What was wrong with him?
She was about to ask when Instinct strode in beside her with hell on his heels.
“You owe me answers,” Instinct said. He lifted his blade and pointed it in Imagination’s face. “Now.”
“My friend, the only thing I owe you is gratitude,” Imagination said, spreading out his arms. Haunt shook his head. It looked strange seeing his grandpa holding out his arms to Steve. Unnatural, even. Their respective colors filled the room, making it look almost aquamarine in tone.
“Why does he—” Marigold began.
“Bullshit,” Instinct interrupted. “Why did you lie to me? And them? You lied to them, too. Why?
“As I said before, it had to be done. But the gang’s all here, right?” he said, smiling when the blade touched his nose. “Plus, I have the baby. I would think you would be impressed.”
“Impressed?” Instinct scoffed. He pressed the rounded edge of the blade against Imagination’s cheek, but the blue entity didn’t squirm.
Haunt caught up to the three of them and stood beside his wife. The boy in the blue egg squirmed, his tiny face scrunching up like he had indigestion. Was this their son?
“Why shouldn’t you be impressed?” Imagination said. “It wasn’t easy getting the three of you here. I had to do a lot of planning. As you well know, planning’s not my strong point. If there’s anything we have in common, Instinct, it’s that we like to improvise, you and I.”
The blade in Instinct’s hand erupted in a green flame. He flicked his wrist and drew a small gash across Imagination’s cheek like an artist slashing with a paintbrush. Imagination grabbed his right cheek with both hands and gritted his teeth.
“What the hell’s wrong with you?” Imagination snarled. “You know that thing can—”
“Stop being cute and start explaining yourself or I’ll cut you in half.”
“What’s wrong with my son?” Marigold finally got out of her. Her tears dripped on the oval and slid down its curved sides. Haunt wrapped his arm around her. He couldn’t stop looking at his son’s face. He was afraid.
Instinct’s eyes darted to the oval and then back at Imagination, who still had his hand pressed against his face. Blue blood seeped between his fingers.
“Well?” Instinct said. “You owe us an explanation.”
“To you or the mother?” Imagination said mockingly. “Or to the child? Which will you have first, Lord Instinct?”
Instinct looked at Marigold and exhaled deeply. He put the blade back in his sheath.
“Answer Marigold first,” Instinct said scowling. “I haven’t lost myself completely in this form. I’m still mankind’s servant.”
“So you are,” Imagination said. “So you are.” He rubbed up and down his cheek quickly and when he removed his hand, his skin was as it had been, smooth and unblemished.
“The reason your son looks so pained,” Imagination said, “is because he IS pained. He doesn’t want to live. I’m the only thing keeping him alive.”
Haunt held her closer to him. She needed it.
“But why?” Haunt asked for his wife.
“Oh, why does any child in the Landscape want to miscarry themselves?” Imagination said. “He saw his future in his dreams and he didn’t like it, so he tried to kill himself before he was born. It happens.”
“He’s not lying,” Instinct added. “Miscarriages are frequent here. Some of them even happen by accident. But don’t leave out any details,” he said to Imagination. “They already know their child is meant to be the Messiah.”
“Then why discuss it any further?” Imagination shrugged. “What I’m sure they’d rather know is why I’ve brought them here in the first place.”
“Yes,” Marigold said, looking up for the first time. “Why did you bring us?”
“To save him,” Imagination said simply. His smile was almost a gloat. “That aura around your son is the only thing keeping both you and him alive right now. If I removed it, then he would initiate a self-destruct mechanism within himself. He’s capable of doing so now that he’s already flung himself from the Tree of Life. And he’s already kind of doing it in a sense, bubble notwithstanding. But I’ve made certain that it’s been a very slow process, and it can be reversed with the right persuasion. But out there,” he said, his eyes lingering beyond the glass, “In the world of man, he could kill you in seconds. You’re already in a coma out there, but an aneurism here, a popped blood vessel there, and he could make short work of you if he wanted to. And he does want to. If the only means to kill himself is through your brain-dead body, then that’s what he’ll do. He’s selfish, just like all humans.”
Marigold gagged as she choked on her tears. How could something she’s wanted for so long be so violently against her? Her Aiden sounded like a cancer, just waiting to kill her from the inside. Her husband squeezed her tighter. It was the only thing he could think to do.
“Stop scaring them and tell them how it can be prevented,” Instinct ordered. “I tried telling them myself but it would sound better coming from you.”
“Of course,” Imagination said, patting the blue oval as if he were petting an animal. “I brought the two of you here for a reason, and I’ll make sure to see that reason through to the end. You see, the future of Aiden can be changed and it must be changed, or the future of mankind is doomed. And if that world is doomed, then this world is doomed, being that it is inside mankind. Your son could change all that.”
He put his hands together and then spread them out as if he was doing cat’s cradle. A swirling light grew in the space between his hands. It crackled and sparked with blue energy, similar to the chandelier on the first floor. It swirled until a haunting image appeared within them. It was of a grey and broken wasteland. Smoke wafted off the ground. Twisted metal and garbage made up the landscape. The sky was brown with smoke and soot.
“This is the future that your Aiden must prevent,” Imagination said grimly. “He will prevent it if he’s born. I can glean that much from my dreams. And Instinct has felt it, too. Haven’t you, Instinct?”
Instinct nodded, crossing his arms.
“But your son must be born for the future to be saved,” Imagination continued, “and the two of you have to persuade him to be born.”
“But how?” Marigold cried.
“Well, you could start by not being so angry at your husband,” he said, pointing at Haunt with his thumb. “I was the one who made him imagine what life would be like without you. So don’t hate him, hate me. It was because of me he killed himself. He would have gone on living for your son if not for me. But I needed him here so I brought him. It was as simple as that.”
She gnashed her teeth. Imagination was to blame for everything.
It finally made sense to Haunt. He knew he wouldn’t have been so reckless to just fall asleep in the car with the gas running. There had to have been a reason, and now he saw it. That bastard.
“But the whole point of bringing the two of you here was so that Aiden could see that his parents cared for him so much that they c
ouldn’t live without him,” Imagination continued. “It’s for that reason that I can’t have you huffy at your husband anymore. That would ruin everything I’ve planned for. Everything I’ve done.”
“Everything you’ve done?” Instinct growled.
“The both of us have done,” he corrected himself. “Don’t be so stuffy, Instinct. You know I couldn’t have done this without you.”
“Damn right,” Instinct said. A shadow of a smile formed on his face.
“But why would he want to be born if we’re both dead?” Marigold asked. “He’s not going to have anybody out there for him once he’s born.”
“But he will,” Imagination said, closing his hands and ending the panoramic view of destruction. “I’ve already set the ball rolling. If you can persuade your son to be born, then he’ll have your brother to watch over him, which I’m sure Instinct must look like to you now.”
“My?—”
“Yes,” Imagination said. “Your Adam. Your Marine brother. Your hero. That’s not to say that your friend, Steve, didn’t play a part in this himself,” he said, turning his attention to Haunt.
“What?” Haunt asked.
“Never mind,” Imagination said.
“But that still doesn’t answer why you deceived me.” Instinct said.
“I couldn’t risk anything to chance,” Imagination said. “I needed to make sure the two of them got here safely and that you were at your strongest in case anything happened. It’s the only way we’ll ever get into Purpose’s room together. I did what had to be done.”
“But—” Instinct began, but he dropped it. Imagination was very persuasive.
“So there you have it,” Imagination said, “I—”
Imagination stopped to sniff the air. The temperature plummeted and Marigold’s hands started to shake. The baby wobbled in her arms.
“What’s going on?” Haunt asked, trying to keep his balance.
“Is the dreamer awakening?” Instinct asked, but Imagination stared at the door.
“She wouldn’t,” Imagination said, turning a darker blue.
“What’s happening?” Marigold asked. She brought Aiden closer to her chest.
“She couldn’t,” Imagination said with menace, the blue aura turned into flames.
An orange ball of light flickered twice by the elevator doors like a match being lit.
“Is that…Logic?” Instinct asked, squinting.
Imagination, glowing ice blue, stepped in front of all of them. There was a crack of thunder in front of the elevator and a small dot swirled until it became a vortex. It turned clockwise and papers from the cubicles flew off and headed toward the funnel. They flapped as they disappeared into its swirling, orange maw. The whole room turned dark as midnight, save for the electricity shooting from the portal.
“What’s going on?” Marigold shouted over the noise. She held the oval as tight as she could to her chest. She bared down, and Haunt, draping his arm around her, made her hunch down with him. The force of the vortex pulled them forward, but they both stamped their feet down, holding their ground.
“Do something!” Instinct yelled in Imagination’s ear.
Before he could, a white dot appeared at the center of the portal. A line emerged from the dot, and then, there was a silent explosion. It was followed by a bright orange light that lit the room. When Marigold opened her eyes again, she gasped. Her mother emerged from the white dot, bathed in violent orange.
But it was Haunt who said the first words.
His lips quavered and his eyes glazed over with fear.
“Ms. Davis?”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Haunt trembled. Ms. Davis’ orange hue was blinding. She wore the same clothes she wore the day she fired him. The blue eyeliner, tinted with orange, looked like war paint. Her thin frame was as rigid as an arrow.
Marigold saw her mother in Logic—an unbearable, unmovable object. She wore tight jeans and a low cut blouse that revealed the wrinkles in her cleavage. The sunglasses that covered half of her face looked like praying mantis eyes.
Logic stood in front of the elevator door. She held a scepter with a golden substance in the bulb that sloshed about like soda.
“You have no business being here,” Imagination shouted, thrusting his finger forward. “You are uninvited! There are boundaries here and—”
“You have overstepped them,” she finished for him. Her eyes were the color of lava. She turned toward Instinct. Her appearance exuded strength and power, even at her diminutive size.
“You disappoint me,” she said. Her voice suddenly brought down the temperature in the room and made everybody’s breath visible.
“I don’t exist to meet your approval,” Instinct said. He pulled his blade back out of its sheath. The rounded edge glinted in the lights that surrounded it. Marigold looked down at her child and gasped. His eyes were scrunched up so tight that it looked like his head was about to explode. His mouth shot open, making a silent scream.
“Imagination,” she said hurriedly. “What’s wrong with him?”
“Not now, Marigold,” he said, his attention still on Logic. “Why have you come?”
Marigold thrust her son to Instinct.
“What’s wrong with him?” Marigold asked. Haunt cringed when he saw his son. The look on his face was terrifying. Instinct looked at the child and was stunned.
“You have gone through great lengths for this family,” Logic said to Imagination.
“And it was all worth it,” Imagination said. Instinct gripped his arm from behind.
“Ow!” Imagination shouted. He turned his attention to Instinct. “What do you want?”
“What’s wrong with the kid?” Instinct asked. “What’s happening?”
“Oh. He’s just having another nightmare,” Imagination said once he looked inside the oval. He then turned his attention back to Logic. “Everything I’ve done—”
“Wait,” Instinct said, squeezing Imagination’s arm again.
“Ow! What?”
“Is he having a nightmare about the future?” Instinct asked.
“Of course. What else would he have a nightmare about? Now unhand me.”
“But you have to do something,” Marigold pleaded. “He’s in pain.”
“It’s because he knows what you’re forcing upon him,” Logic said, taking a step forward, “Allow me to help.”
“Not on your life,” Imagination said, pushing Marigold and Instinct back. Haunt almost tripped over his feet. “This doesn’t concern you.”
“But Marigold’s right,” Instinct said, staring at the boy’s stretched lips and tight eyes. “Is the nightmare hurting him?”
“You know as well as I do that we need this boy for the future, whether he likes it or not,” Imagination said, turning toward Instinct. “If he’s suffering, then it’s meant to be.”
“No,” Marigold moaned.
“Yes,” Imagination said, “A million times yes. And you know it, Instinct. You feel it.”
“The only thing Instinct feels is what you’re putting in his head,” Logic said.
“That’s a lie!” Imagination shouted.
“But it’s not,” Logic countered. “And you know it’s true.”
“Instinct, you have to do something,” Haunt said, looking at his son. “Please help him!”
“Yes, Instinct, please!” Marigold pleaded.
“You know the truth, Instinct.” Imagination butted in. “You know I didn’t plant any ideas in your head.”
Logic countered: “No matter how much you feel something is coming, you can’t predict the future.”
“Yes, you can,” Imagination said.
“No. You can’t,” Logic said.
“Instinct, DO something!”
“Stop!” Instinct yelled, and a green flame shot across the room. The windows behind them shattered. Haunt and Marigold covered their heads.
“All of you just shut up for a second and let me think!” Instinct c
losed his eyes and calmed his breathing. After a moment, he spoke again: “Now, I don’t believe every word that came out of Imagination’s mouth,” he said to Logic. “But I do trust my senses, and I can feel that Aiden is needed in the future. Even if he doesn’t want any part of it himself, he has to be born, and that’s that.”
“No,” Marigold moaned, and now Haunt cried. His son’s body was flush with sweat.
“So, I take it that is your final decision?” Logic said with her inflection unchanged.
“It is. This child has to be born.”
“And there’s no persuading you either then,” she said to Imagination. “You’re dead set on this course of action? There’s no turning back for you?”
“I can never turn back,” Imagination said. “Not after what I’ve seen in my dreams. What I’m doing is right.”
“Then you leave me no choice,” she said.
In one quick motion, she shot a golden beam from the scepter skyward. The beam hit the ceiling and made a sound like a popped balloon. Just then, a single, golden pool wobbled on the roof before suddenly, cracks spread from it across the ceiling. It was caving in.
“This tower shall be your tomb,” she said.
Blue electricity shot from Imagination’s fingertips. Haunt, remembering the gun in his free hand, shot twice. Logic made a fist and the gun crinkled in Haunt’s hand like a piece of paper. She swatted the air and deflected the blue electricity. It hit a wall. When the scepter was empty, she lowered her head.
Her body decayed instantly. Her hair turned white and her body shriveled up. She lowered the scepter. The ceiling rumbled.
“What have you done?” Imagination whispered.
She didn’t answer him. A line stretched across the room and she turned into a disappearing wisp of smoke. The ceiling cracked down the center, and a chunk of it fell off. Instinct pushed Haunt and Marigold out the way. It shattered right by their feet. In her fall, Marigold landed on the oval. It morphed underneath her and rounded. The baby was protected. He stopped screaming. His lips twitched in his sleep.
“What’s going on?” Instinct shouted to Imagination. Haunt looked up from the floor and watched the golden light spread across the ceiling and run down the walls. Everything it touched dissolved. The ceiling rained gold. Some of it fell by his shoulder and made a quarter sized hole in the floor. He leapt up. The building was collapsing.
The Darkness of the Womb Page 13